


#ILYBINILWY

by Azirashell_Ascendant



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Internal Conflict, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), One Shot, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Romantic Gestures, Romantic Soulmates, Sexual Tension, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:43:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azirashell_Ascendant/pseuds/Azirashell_Ascendant
Summary: When one's idea of cutting edge slang is "Nifty", miscommunications are bound to occur.





	#ILYBINILWY

**Author's Note:**

> _You see, kids? Knowledge **is** power._
> 
> While rereading one my favourite fics, I discovered (to my horror) that I've plagiarized "available literature." But its rhythm is so perfectly like "moral argument" that I cannot bear to let it go. 
> 
> Please go read _Downfall _by **idiopathicsmile. ** You won't be sorry. Apparently, I return to it so often I've sublimated it ^_^

"I do love you, you know," Aziraphale had offered; and knew immediately that he had somehow misstepped. With a swift apology for having to "dash off", Crowley disappeared into the night before Aziraphale could even rise from his chair.

A few months later, while pouring over (read fussily critiquing) a brand new analysis of Medieval Romantic Poetry, he discovered his mistake. Since the latter half of the 20th century, several once neutral phrases had apparently developed some significant coded undertones. These ones seemed to all be iterations of:

_ I love you, but I'm not in love with you. _

Oh. Oh dear. No wonder Crowley has not taken off his sunglasses for weeks, and his esses had now begun to hiss.

Aziraphale chewed his lower lip, pacing in the back of his mind. He was at a loss on how to move past this misunderstanding. Sometimes, least said actually is soonest mended? Crowley was already pretending the evening had never happened. 

He then thought of Crowley at home, silent behind his sunglasses; his absurd plants wilting and cowering in terror. He thought of white knuckles gripping a steering wheel. He thought of all of the genial "shaddup"s, and protective coiling. He thought of that snarling "I'm not Nice," and how gently he was still cradled under the frustrated shove. He thought of Crowley crying harder over the bookshop than even he had allowed himself to do.

He thought of centuries of affectionate little miracles, of decadent lunches that Crowley had never once eaten. Of all the ways Crowley had guarded him from the cruelties of Heaven: manipulating compliance reports to create a buffer of paperwork between Aziraphale and his superiors; engaging in both the valiant and the ridiculous to keep him on earth; rescuing him over and over again from the threat of Discorporation. Of braving consecrated ground to do so. 

_ I love you, but I'm not in love with you. _

Aziraphale stood up abruptly; all his determination (which Crowley _would_ insist on calling stubbornness) sharpened to a pencil point. What in Heaven's name had all this _ dithering _ been for? 

This was _ Crowley. _They had cherished each other for millennia. Humans were remarkable when they lasted half a century. It all seemed a bit stupid to call themselves lovers and feel like lovers and tease and snark and chat like lovers and long for each other like lovers and then not _ be_ lovers. 

"Alright, let's go too fast." Now. Before he had second thoughts. Then before he had _ any _ other thoughts at all (including the fact that he did not actually need to phone anyone), Aziraphale snatched up the phone and booked a room as well as a table for the Ritz that night.

Later that evening, when Crowley began to make polite noises about coats and checks and thank yous, Aziraphale's hand shot out to catch him sharply by the wrist. 

"I thought we might stay on a little longer tonight." 

He didn't meet any resistance. Crowley was still staring down at their hands. The touch had not been exactly gentle, and he was gaping a bit. His expression then shifted from startled to stunned when they began to head toward the elevators; Aziraphale still firmly, but now a touch more discreetly, gripping his wrist.

"We're _not_ retiring to the cocktail lounge, then?" he asked quietly. 

Still no resistance, but Aziraphale was a bit surprised by Crowley's subdued tone. It wasn't exactly a secret that Crowley wanted this quite badly. He actually seemed to be a bit on the desperate side, if one were honest. 

Concern was slowing Aziraphale's momentum. He _had _planned to shove Crowley up against a wall in the elevator: Tadfield Manor and the way it ought to have ended. 

_ I love you, but I'm not in love with you. _

When the elevator doors finally closed, a far more nervous Aziraphale did lift his face up to Crowley's; to offer him a kiss...or a question. Crowley, rather shockingly taking _off_ his specs, opted for the latter. "I don't actually understand what we're doing here."

"It's not obvious?" Aziraphale's hesitancy swept back over him. Crowley visibly winced, watching the angel beginning to draw away. His words began toppling over themselves. 

"We could--Why don't we start with a snifter or two of brandy...or even champagne, to celebrate?" 

Aziraphale had lowered his eyes and Crowley was instinctively trying to shift the ground to his advantage. The same old dance.

Aziraphale, still looking down, said "Alcohol is supposed to be quite detrimental in situations like these. All the available literature was quite clear regarding both potency and stamina."

And then Crowley began to laugh helplessly above him. Like that, the tension was gone.

"The available literature. Did it also discuss the aphrodisiac qualities of bebop? Good lord, Angel." Then, that nose wrinkle. Aziraphale was a bit startled by how...cute it looked from the other side. "And _ I _ do love _you_...you idiot."

Aziraphale started to laugh too. His own words; at least, as Crowley remembered them, regifted with none of the sting.

_ I love you, and I'm in love with you. _

Crowley graciously opened the door for them.

"Let's have a small nightcap. I guarantee it's not going to impede my stamina."

**Author's Note:**

> **Epilogue **: _A Couplet in Text Messages_
> 
> **C:** (a short series of eggplant emojis)  
**A:** Oh darling, I'm so sorry. Soho's Farmers Market isn't until Thursday. We could try Camden.


End file.
